Wednesday, August 02, 2006

The Utter Lack of Profound Things

A friend of mine, a legendary cynic of note, recently used the expression, "perambulating along the outskirts of verbosity," in connection to a particularly embarrassing magazine article we read together. (This of course had nothing to do with the fact that our feelings toward the writer are decidedly negative...) Anyway, it made me wonder about using big fancy words and whether being truly articulate means conveying exactly what you feel in the simplest possible way. I'm reminded briefly of Kevin Spacey's voice in American Beauty:

"I guess I could be pretty pissed off about what happened to me ... but it's hard to stay mad when there's so much beauty in the world. Sometimes I feel like I'm seeing it all at once, and it's too much. My heart fills up like a balloon that's about to burst ...And then I remember ... to relax, and not try to hold on to it. And then it flows through me like rain. And I can't feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life. You have no idea what I'm talking about, I'm sure. Don't worry ... you will someday."

The thoughts are sometimes too much to conceive of all at once. Writing them down helps but I remember JK Rowling once describing the sensation as trying to contain flowing water in your cupped hands.

My elder sister, a wise, sage-like nobility of our Time, calls it stream of consciousness. I, of course, don't understand the concept the way it probably should be understood, but being a self-proclaimed /*presumptuous*/ programmer whose mind has been mercilessly addled by violent and disturbing pc games and TV shows can probably be stated as the reason I have made my own ridiculous interpretation of it. I'm writing and writing /*or typing and typing*/ and the gaarrbage that appears on the page /*or the screen*/ is just as it was in my head, only with a clear kind of structure (meant only for me, of course). So contrary to popular belief, I'm not being intoxicated by the exuberance of my own verbosity, even though I may be rambling on incoherently. I'm just getting high on my own consciousness. Does that make any sense? I'm a bad writer. But it's enjoyable for me because when I read the gaarrbage later, I'm all high on it and feeling richly dramatic and maybe even substantial. Whatever…I suppose I could be wrong, but I believe it's healthy to write. No matter how bad you are at it. That way, when someone asks you a question, for the most part, at least you'll be able to maggaj {maggaj - a word formulated by delirious people to describe what a 2nd year computer science student writes in an exam which dares contemplating asking her to write out two pages of C++ code without a compiler /*but a pen, instead; WHAT IS THAT?!?*/}

So you see, even if it is in a morbid, melancholic kind of way, as long as you can express yourself, be it verbosely, or so that you are the only person that will ever understand it, there’ll always be beauty in the world. At least we’ll be feeding our own egos.

I think this post was just a warning in case you wanted to read more later on.


neverBlink said...

i think your friend should be commended for teaching you such wise things.

keep spilling your soul...I agree,it's refreshing

CorpseKicker said...

Indeed, she would enjoy that. I'll be sure to redirect the comment, that is if she actually has space for more compliments in that big head of hers.

queen_Lestat said...

hmmmm you guys seem awfully familiar...